9. Sorrel #2
I felt something similar to that in the beginning with Huck, but never as intense and it stopped pretty early on.
Sex had become a chore with him, and eventually, his touch made my body go rigid.
I can’t imagine being with someone in that way again.
My body might be feeling its own type of way toward Denton, but my mind isn't. It feels like my body is betraying me. I don’t know when—if ever—I’ll be ready to be with someone intimately again.
. . .
A spread of Jo’s delicious food lies across the long wooden table in the main house. Roast beef, mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, sweet corn, biscuits, and her famous peach cobbler already cooling on the counter. The smell alone is enough to make a grown man cry, and my mouth is watering.
Jo is bustling around in her apron, barking orders at my dad to stop stealing bites from the serving platters. She swats at him with a kitchen towel.
“Clint Saxxon, if you touch that cobbler, I swear I'll kick you out of my damn kitchen.”
Dad just grins like a kid caught sneaking cookies.
“Worth it,” he snickers.
Sutton, Ryder, and Trotter are already at the table when the front door opens and the boys pile in. They shimmy out of their dusty boots with wide eyes, taking in the warmth of the old house.
The main house was built in the 1980s and is still in its original form.
It was built out of locally sourced logs and the wood is a warm rich mahogany color.
It’s as if each piece tells a story of history.
My favorite thing about the house is the oversize stone fireplace that sits in the middle of the living room with Dad’s elk mounted atop.
We’ve had so many nights cuddled up on the couches and stories told in front of that fireplace.
Sutton snickers when she notices the guys taking off their boots, and nudges Ryder's elbow.
“No need for that, boys, you’re in cowboy territory now and we don’t take our boots off unless we're getting laid, in bed, or both,” Ryder says to them all gruffly.
Not a single one of them respond, a look of surprise across their faces. Denton started to slip one boot off and shoves his foot back in before walking over to where I’m sitting at the table.
He pulls the chair out next to mine, and I fidget as he sits down.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Dad says as he comes out of the kitchen. “Glad to have you boys here. Hope Sorrel didn’t scare you boys too bad during the tour.”
“She gave us the full drill sergeant tour,” Johnny says with a grin, earning a toothy smile from Sutton across the table.
Denton gives a polite nod to everyone, and when he sees Trotter, his face lights up.
“Is this the Trotter I heard all about?” he asks.
“This is him, the star of the show,” Sutton tells Denton, tousling Trotter's hair. He smiles up at her and then buries his face in her underarm. Apparently, he’s feeling shy tonight.
Everyone piles into the food, and most of their plates are empty within a few minutes. Jo brings out seconds for everyone, muttering something about “grown men eating like starving coyotes.”
It’s loud, messy, and if I’m being honest, kind of fun. The boys are hilarious and have us all laughing so hard our cheeks hurt. Even Dad is chuckling a bit. Denton was right, and Johnny is definitely the more “flavorful” one of the group.
Sutton leans over to me mid-meal, and whispers in my ear, “That’s the Denton Reed, isn’t it?”
I nod.
She grins. “Well, damn, you could have cleaned up a little more, Sorrel.”
I look down at my dirty jeans and quarter zip I have on.
My hair is tied back in a braid, and the only makeup I put on this morning was a little concealer and blush.
Denton overhears her, and is holding back a smile.
I shake my head and take another bite of potatoes, pretending not to notice Denton’s gaze continuing to linger on me like I’m the only one in the room.
“You don’t need to clean up for me. You’re beautiful, Sorrel,” he says, so quietly I wonder if I imagined it.
I feel my stupid cheeks giving me away again. I don’t reply. My eyes drift to Sutton and Ryder. They are sitting close together, and their fingers brush as they pass the rolls.
The quiet way they look at each other—like the world could fall apart and they’d still be solid—makes something ache deep in my chest. I admire them more than they probably know. Their story isn’t easy, but they made it out the other side just fine.
I glance back at Denton and catch him watching them too, a soft look in his eyes like maybe he longs for the same thing. When our eyes meet, he gives me a small, almost shy grin. I drop my eyes to my plate and clear my throat.
“Well,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing. “If everyone’s done stuffing their faces, we’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Cattle don’t wait on hangovers or beauty sleep, so don’t let me catch anyone bitchin’ and moanin’ when it’s time to cowboy up.”
A few chuckles ripple through the table, but I mean every word. Tomorrow is going to be a long one and I need to keep my head on straight.
Jo takes my plate from me. I offer to do the dishes, but she refuses. I need something to distract me.
I step outside onto the front porch. The ranch has gone quiet, the kind of quiet you only get way out here, where the wind hums through the pines and the stars feel close enough to touch.
I sit down in one of the old wooden rocking chairs, and it creaks as I stretch my legs out and close my eyes, taking in the day and how I feel about Denton being here. Here with me, and my family, at our ranch. One side of me is annoyed and the other…well, the other side feels happy.
It’s a confusing feeling, one I still can’t really wrap my mind around.
The band on the other hand seem laid back and it will be a nice change of pace. If I can just ignore Denton’s flirting, the week might not be so bad.
I rock back and forth, taking in deep breaths, looking out over the dark pasture. Crickets sing their song and one of the barn cats slinks by, chasing shadows. Just as I start to stand to go back inside, I hear the screen door screech behind me.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Denton says, his voice low and timid. “Mind if I join you?”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Our home is your home for the week.”
He sits down next to me in the other rocking chair.
“This place is somethin’,” he says, looking out over the land. “Feels real.”
“It is,” I reply, a little sharper than I mean to. “This isn’t just a tour stop for us. This is our life.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I know. That’s kinda why I came.”
I side-eye him. “Still wrapping my head around that.”
He gives me a half smile. “Look, I meant what I said earlier. I’m not here to make anything complicated. I just want a break from the noise. And maybe I wanted to see you again… but no pressure. Just bein’ honest.”
I stare into the darkness, letting his words settle in the quiet. “You know,” I say after a moment, “people like you don’t usually stick around places like this.”
“Maybe I’m not people like me. You think you have me figured me out, Sorrel Saxxon?”
I don’t have an answer for that. He’s right. I don’t know him, and I am unfairly categorizing him into a group that may not be him. But that doesn't mean I’m going to just take his word for it.
After a while, he nods toward the guesthouse. “Well…guess I’ll turn in. Big day of cowboying tomorrow.”
“You boys better get used to early mornings and sore muscles. You ain't rock stars out here. There’s no partying all night and sleeping all day,” I say with a soft smirk, trying to lighten up a little.
He grins as he turns to go. “That’s why I’m here, Sorrel. Good night.”
He walks away, leaving me here on the porch, alone with the stars and the annoying little flutter in my chest I don’t want to admit is still there.